Congratulations, too, to The Sun newspaper for providing an early contender for the Irk the Purists' Headline of the Year award last Friday. Accompanying an article about the arrest of Falkirk MP Eric Joyce for allegedly assaulting a fellow member, the headline read "Commons Have A Go If You Think You're Hard Enough".
Now as a Guardian-reading, brown-rice eating, bed-wetting relativist liberal, you'd possibly expect me to denounce all the works of Rupert Murdoch and his progeny. And yes, I'll concede that their business and journalistic methods leave something to be desired. But when he's not bring national institutions to their knees, James Murdoch (son of Rupert and until today the chairman of News International) is cold getting busy with the flavor. He's chilly most. He knows what's def. What's wack. What's jam. What's straight-up booty.
For strange as it may seem, Murdoch fils, before he became better known for his cameo appearances at the Levenson Enquiry, was one of the co-founders of the seminal hip hop label Rawkus, which helped to launch the careers of Talib Kweli, Pharoahe Monche, Hi-Tek, Common and, notably, Mos Def. The label, in fact, was bought by News International in 1998, some two years after the label's launch, before being sold on to MCA. It's salutary, isn't it, to think of James Murdoch in a disreputable industry, having to deal every day with thugs, reprobates, unsavoury managers and hangers-on. If only he'd stuck to hip hop instead of going into journalism (b'dum tsh).
To recall the days when James Murdoch was almost as hip as James Lavelle, rather than the blinking, evasive character we see on our TV screens today, here's a little something by Talib Kweli and Hi-Tek from 1999 or so.
Congratulations to the strangely-named Gotye for releasing the first UK no. 1 single to exactly mimic the scansion of "Baa Baa Black Sheep". The only exculpatory circumstance may be that, being Belgian, he may be unaware of the aforementioned nursery rhyme. Even so, whether he's aware of the steal or not, this sing-songy drivel was played ad nauseam over a tannoy system while taking the slopes on a recent skiing holiday, to the extent that it completely obliterated the theme tune to Ski Sunday that was playing in my head, and which is my preferred music of choice when on the piste.
Happy birthday David Bowie, 65 today (actually, yesterday now: I'm writing this on the stroke of midnight).
A fantastic blog, which, among other things, made me listen to Low in a completely new light. Extra points if you get the (double) meaning of the blog title: Pushing Ahead Of The Dame
And given that you've probably heard Starman, Life on Mars, Fame, Golden Years etc. ad nauseam, here's one of his lesser-known singles, but a particular fave of mine from the mid-90s, Jump They Say. Notable for many reasons, not least his reunion with Nile Rodgers, the excellent trumpet of Lester Bowie (no relation) and the nod to Chris Marker's La Jetee in the video, it's also an oblique reference to his brother Terry, who inspired many of the Dame's songs (the Bewlay Brothers for example).
Borag thung, earthlets. For the sixth consecutive year, we present the Irk The Purists look at the highlights and lowlights of the last 12 months. Zarjaz!
Best gig
Well, a narrow field this year, seeing as I hardly attended any gigs. Rock 'n' roll, eh? (Though I did see a mesmerising performance of classical Indian music in an Edinburgh church a couple of weeks ago.)
Despite encroaching middle age, Mrs. Irk and I did manage one day of live performances, at London's Wireless Festival in July, and the acts ranged from passable to stellar. The former included Chromeo (who would have been great at 10.30 at night- unfortunately they were on in broad daylight, battling the wind and drizzle at 4pm) and Katy B (on a mission, yes, but only towards mediocrity). Slightly better was Ke$ha, who I'd mentally written off as the poor man's Lady Gaga, but who actually won me over with her sheer abandon, ripped tights and largely female band. At 6pm The Streets were (was?) their (his?) usual self, a self I'd got to know well after accompanying Mrs. Irk to various concert appearances over the years, and the crowd moshed accordingly. (How long did he manage to drag out that farewell tour, by the way? It seemed to last all year.) So, Mike Skinner would have got a qualified thumbs-up, were it not for the theft of my wife's mobile phone from her bag during the performance, a theft that only became apparent as The Streets left the stage, and which put something of a damper on the rest of the day. The Aphex Twin performed admirably at 7pm , but we sat outside the tent unable to summon up much enthusiasm for the proceedings. When the headliners, The Chemical Brothers, came on stage at about 8.30pm, we wandered over but my wife's mind was clearly elsewhere. I determined this at about 9.15pm, when she declared "We'll just stay until the Chemical Brothers come on, then we'll go, eh?" It was with a heavy heart that I informed her that we'd actually been sitting watching the aforementioned act for the last 45 minutes. I have to admit my mind was elsewhere too (though I at least was cognisant of who we were watching); I was wondering what would have happened if we'd gone to see Battles in a smaller tent rather than The Streets on the main stage. No doubt we'd have seen a slightly less exciting gig (and subsequent reviews confirmed this. But Battles attract a slightly less thuggish audience than The Streets, and I'd wager that Mrs Irk would at least have kept her phone, and we'd have enjoyed our day out slightly more.
Luckily, the best act by far appeared before the phone theft put the kibosh on proceedings. and that act was Janelle Monae, who had stormed it at Glastonbury a few days previously. Despite appearing at the distinctly un-funky time of 1pm (she was the first act on the bill, incredibly, below Chromeo and Katy B-- I predict she'll be headlining in 2013), Ms. Monae tore the roof off, as the youngsters of today would have it. Actually there wasn't a roof, just grey Hyde Park skies, but I gather this "roof" they speak of is only a metaphor anyway. And within five minutes she made you forget you were outside on a dull July day with a few hundred early-risers; instead you were transported into her black and white Wondaland. Seeing Janelle Monae live is like seeing Prince, Morris Day, Stevie Wonder, Cab Calloway, Trouble Funk (the extended, ellided 15-minute sets) or Little Richard at the height of their powers, and at various times she resembles all of these. I didn't really see many acts this year, but even if I'd been out every night, I don't think I'd have seen a better gig than this one. You can get a good idea of what I saw below:
Sayonara
Cesaria Evoria, Bert Schneider, Jeff Conaway, Bobby Robinson, Amy Winegums, Richard Hamilton, Pete Postlethwaite, Heavy D, Saddam Hussein, Christopher Hitchens, Gerry Rafferty, Andrea True, DJ Mehdi, Ken Russell, Loleatta Holloway, Billie Jo Spears, Russell Hoban, Sidney Lumet, Osama Bin Laden, Basil D’Oliveira, Jane Russell, Vaclav Havel, Harry Morgan, Nick Ashford, Bert Jansch, Liz Taylor, Mick Karn, Joe Frazier, Steve Jobs, Peter Falk, Clarence Clemons, Gil Scott-Heron, Elisabeth Sladen, Sylvia Robinson, Kim Jong-Il, Martin Rushent, Poly Styrene, Jackie Leven, John Barry, Jimmy Savile, Jet Harris, Smiley Culture, Jerry Lieber, David Croft, Len Ganley
Best TV
In the absence of Mad Men, I enjoyed Hugo Blick's bleak The Shadow Line, with its who's who of British acting talent, and of course The Apprentice and Strictly continued to provide vicarious thrills (and just how big was Mohammed's "David Byrne" suit in Junior Apprentice? Are we sure he was 16? Did anyone check his birth certificate? He looked and acted about 12). The Killing was alright, but I'm not sure it justified the 20 hours of my life it took to get to its conclusion. And am I the only person who thinks the Danish police methods (albeit fictional) leave a lot to be desired? I got the feeling that once Lund had placed everyone in Copenhagen under arrest (and she'd certainly arrested a fair few suspects before releasing them uncharged in the first 18 weeks of the show), she'd get the right one eventually. If British police arrested and released a dozen suspects for a crime before eventually, by a process of elimination, settling on the right one, I rather thank they'd be facing a public enquiry rather than awards and acclaim in the broadsheets' arts pages.
The best TV show, though, snuck right in under the wire at the close of the year. Charlie Brooker's Black Mirror was thought-provoking, well-made telly with high production values and nuanced acting, and in a TV landscape littered with police procedurals, cookery shows and structured reality (TOWIE, Desperate Scousewives), it stuck out like a diamond in a slurry pit. Three separate, unrelated peeks into the lives of people in parallel universes, their connecting thread seemed to be our reliance on technology and its propensity to hurl us all towards dystopia (more cynical readers may see the ongoing existence of this blog as further evidence). He's acknowledged his debt to The Twilight Zone, and I hope this latter-day Rod Serling gets a recommission, because there are precious few stand-alone TV dramas being made right now, and even fewer as stylish and clever as Black Mirror.
Best TV-related mash-up
Best music documentary
Nice effort by Martin Scorsese, I thought, but sorry Martin, you've been pipped to the post by Sheffield documentary maker Eve Wood. Her The Beat Is The Law followed up her earlier Made In Sheffield (which took in The Human League, Artery, ABC, Heaven 17 and Cabaret Voltaire) and looked at the years after the miners' strike, when industry declined and Chakk took advantage of the city's empty spaces (and MCA's generous advance) to kickstart Fon studios, without which there'd have been no Krush, no Funky Worm, no Age of Chance, no Warp Records, no Pulp in the charts (possibly), nada. A great documentary, and a lovely 2-disc set with extended interviews and never-before seen Pulp footage; the story of the how the latter came to be discovered is worth the price of the DVDs alone.
A strong field this year, with the return of The Beastie Boys, great dubstep-inflected albums from King Midas Sound, Zomby and Jamie Woon (as well as the good but not great debut from James Blake), blissed-out wonky pop from Washed Out (though I thought it was not quite as good as his debut 2010 mini-album) and an interesting debut from Rustie- more please.
Whitehouse's William Bennett managed to unite the critics in universal acclaim (whereas Whitehouse had divided the music press into those who derided them and those who loathed them) with his Afro Noise album (released under the Cut hands moniker), and deservedly so. In swapping the faux-menace of grown men shrieking about rape and serial killing over synth drones, for genuinely menacing wordless voodoo electronics, Bennett has grown closer to his stated aim of producing a visceral, bodily reaction in the listener. Recommended.
Long-time readers will know that I'm a sucker for female voices combined with electronics (cf. Alison Goldfrapp, Roisin Murphy, Ladytron), and so it shouldn't be a surprise that Class Actress's Rapprocher was very nearly my best of the year. It certainly contained some of the best songs of the year, and the album's first three tracks are terrific. But unfortunately after a cracking start, the album flags a little in the middle, though it rallies for a strong finish. So 4 stars, but not the full enchilada.
Variable quality of tunage kept Class Actress off the top spot, which this year is occupied by Destroyer's ninth (!) album Kaputt. Who hell they? Apparently, one Dan Bejar of Canadian band The New Pornographers, plus various mates. After enjoying Kaputt, I went back and explored the band's previous oeuvre (thank you, Spotify) and was underwhelmed. It was well-made indie pop but somehow unengaging. Kaputt, though, is a different kettle of fish altogether; lush, romantic, a little like Avalon-era Roxy Music, as others have pointed out in reference to the reverbed brass arrangements. To my mind, though, the sax, flugelhorn and trumpet on the album (probably synthesised- the sleeve notes refer merely to "instrumentation") resemble most of all the plaintive work of the great John Gatchell, the trumpet player on Soft Cell's Torch. If you like any or all of the Pet Shop Boys, Moose (and I will get around to giving them their due, I promise), The Aluminum Group (ditto), or any of the artists on Le Grand Magistery records, you'll like Kaputt.
Best single
Do we have to? When any song ever recorded and digitised is eligible for the charts (and I notice that Merry Christmas Everybody by Slade made it to no. 37 this year with no promotional push whatsoever)? See my comments from last year. Well if you insist, let's plump for, ooooooooh [covers eyes, puts pin in hand], this one! Ah yes, Tog by Colourmusic. Gets straight to the point, repeats for 4 minutes, doesn't outstay its welcome and exits swiftly. Job done!
Thanks for keeping the faith. See yous in 2012.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
And as it's Christmas, how about Nona Hendryx (ex-Labelle) and Graham Parker (ex-The Rumour) collaborating on a little ditty called Soul Christmas? It was on a 1994 Parker single that also featured the Scrooge-ish Christmas Is For Mugs, but as far as I'm concerned it's difficult to be cynical about the one day in the year when you're allowed to drink Bloody Marys in your undies at 10am. And so, Christmas Is For Mugs won't be getting played at Irk the Purists Towers this year, while Soul Christmas will. It's just below, so you can play it too. Excelsior.
A big shout out to the good people at http://norecordshopsleft.blogspot.com/ who have keen keeping me extremely entertained over the past few months with superb posts (and uploads) highlighting many unjustly forgotten groups (Clock DVA, Test Dept, Slab, Chakk) and labels, in particular Fetish and Illuminated. The recent posts featuring the Northern Lights audio magazine, of which I was previously unaware, were particularly welcome and informative. Highly recommended.
From Shakatak to Shostakovich, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs to NoMeansNo, Candi Statton to Candi Payne, Aphex Twin to the Andrews Sisters. MP3s, unsupported assertions and contentious drivel.
Please note, all music on the site is for evaluation purposes only. Play once and then delete! If you like it, go out and buy the CD or the download. Oh, and if you're the copyright holder and don't like free publicity, let me know in the comments and I'll remove it.
